


everything new

by njckle



Series: something wild [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-04 17:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13369179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njckle/pseuds/njckle
Summary: Newt's done the impossible: he's effectively separated an Obscurus from it's host. The Sudanese girl survived, but now what's he to do with her?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm continuing this because if I don't, I won't be able to think of anything else until I write it out. 
> 
> This will be spanning the three months between Newt meeting Aluel and him arriving in New York. It was originally ten chapters, but, after some editing, it might be less. I'm currently working on it.

Although he isn’t abhorrent of children, nor is he against dealing with them, Newt didn’t think he’d become prominent figure of one this early in his life.

Taking care of magical creatures is one thing, but taking care of a child is something else entirely. He's never been one to get along with anything that isn't a beast, a nuisance to his own kind, so given responsibility over the wellbeing of a child, much less a little girl, is quite a shock. There’s no place for a little girl to be accompanying him in a his travels, especially with his creatures in tow, but he’s the only one capable of caring for her and that’s where the conundrum lies.

Separating Aluel and her obscures leaves the girl weak and Newt guesses she will remain so in the following days—maybe weeks. Coupled with malnourishment and muscle deformation, it will take time for her to get back on her feet, and, until they reach Burkina Faso, she must remain with him, that he is sure of.

He’s created his fair share of of potions, each made in specialty for one of his creatures, and considers himself a more than adequate in the skill. With what he’s done, the impossible he and Aluel have achieved, he thinks that this is the hard part is over. Rehabilitating beasts is what Newt does best, something that requires patience and perseverance, and he repeatedly reassures himself that he can offer the same to Aluel within a small time frame.

At least until he passed her off, preferably to someone with more credentials than he.

He checks his calendar and determines that he's stayed in southern Sudan a week longer than expected, putting him behind schedule. If he is to finish his fieldwork on time he has best get a move on.

He begins a letter intended for the African Ministry. An obscurus should not have been allowed to come into being, much less left to fester, and they had to be notified of it. So many things had happened in such short time and, what with the villagers running them out and the trouble of finding someplace to camp, he hadn't gotten to it, but now there's nothing stopping him from picking up a quill.

_Department of International Magical Cooperation, Ministry of Magic, Britain_

_Mister Healy,_

_I’m writing you to inform you of a—_

He stops, his quil poised for the next few strokes. What comes next has to considered carefully.

_—most inhuman offense. I came across a Sudanese child with magical abilities who was being tormented by her Muggle caretakers. It escalated and led to the death—_

He furiously crosses out the last sentence, rewrites it, then crosses it out again.

_—I had to take her away from the situation when it escalated, whereupon I was forced to extract her Obscurus—_

He tosses the letter and starts afresh.

_She had been ostracized by her people, but I believe she can be properly integrated into wizard society with enough care. I wish to know if you could inform the African Ministry as to where I could hand her off, as I am unqualified—_

He stops, frowning down at the words. That letter ends up in his bin with the first, as do the next half a dozen, each attempt never holding up to his satisfaction. A low creak from behind has him turning. His discontented mood turns for the better when he sees wide, brown eyes staring right back at him. “You're awake!”

Aluel doesn't answer, instead looking at the plants lining the walls. She cranes her neck to observe the ceiling and the various nets and tools hanging above them, following along his dirty bookshelf to the bags of feed at the corner near the ladder. Even his dingy shed is wondrous, Newt surmises, if her expression is anything to go by, completely new and different than the huts that was her village home.

Newt wonders if it's because she was semi-conscious for the past few days, unable to truly see the inside of his case, or because her memory was wiped. Whatever the case, she’s truly seeing it as what it really is for the first time, and so he lets her explore the little space.

She catches sight of something that startles her and she rambles a mess of half-words and sounds, pointing at Newt’s shoulder. Pickett makes a little _chirrup._

Newt cajoles the bowtruckle onto his hand. He’s been hiding so much, that he almost forgets that they haven’t been properly introduced—none of his creatures have been. “This is Pickett.” Aluel takes a step back and Newt hurries to explain. “No, no—there's nothing to be afraid of. He won't hurt you, I promise.” He twists his hand, forcing Pickett to scurry into his palm so not to be dropped. “See? He’s a wonderful chap.”

Pickett squeals and the sound has Aluel coming closer. She looks at the bowtruckle curiously, murmuring something Newt doesn’t understand. Pickett scurries back up Newt’s arm when she tries to touch him and Newt laughs. “He’s very shy—“

A roar cuts him short, his nundu rowdier than usual. Aluel looks at the shed walls widely, but Newt calms her. “There's a lot more,” he tells her. “Would you like to see it?”

She reaches out to him and he takes her hand; step by step, he leads her to the door. Before opening it, he turns to her, finger pressed to his lips. “This will be our secret.”

She stares at him blankly, but mimics his gesture nonetheless. Newt smiles, appreciative of the innocence before him, and opens the door.

His erumpent snorts a greeting the moment she sees him, trotting over to the opening of her enclosure to see his new companion. Newt stops her from attempting a small escape, waving her off along with the the diricawls that are popping in and out of existence by his feet. His other creatures, big and small, shy away into their own habitats, less curious of the new rescue that’s a break from their usual schedule, which is a blessing. Too much excitement wouldn’t be good for neither them nor Aluel, a disaster waiting to happen.

“Well,” he says, turning back to her, “what do you think?”

She leans on the door frame looking wearier than ever, but Newt’s never seen the light in her eyes as bright as they are now. They track his fwooper as it flies across the fake skyline, only to zero in on a cluster of doxies whizzing by. She smiles, and then laughs at the dung beetles scurrying past.

Newt walks back to be at her side. He crouches to be eye-level with her and cradles her hands between his. “It can get a bit wild, but I promise you nothing in here will hurt you.”

Slowly, he uncurls her fingers and shows her the daisy settled in her palm.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter, but the future ones will be longer.

He buys her clothes.

It has to be done, Newt tells himself. It doesn't matter whether she remains with him for two days or two weeks, she couldn't continue to wear the same pitiful cloth any longer; it was so worn and defiled it barely resembled a dress at all. Not only was it unsanitary, it looked horrid (the smell of the fabric would dissuade most, if not all, his creatures).

He's been called strange, socially inept, even beastly, but never neglectful.

Despite traveling through the continent for some time, Newt’s mostly kept to the inhabited jungle and isn't confident as to where the native wizard communities are found; already behind schedule with his research, he's in too much a hurry to travel directly to Burkina Faso. Luckily, Muggles, especially those from Britain and France, have spread themselves all over Africa, striking up ports and settlements that grow faster than reproducing flobberworms. The squatters had turned into permanent residents and their tents into busy towns. Although non-magical, it's the next best thing he has, the confusion with the currency a hassle, but one he can deal with considering his circumstance.

Aluel makes no inclination to leave the case, either too tired or scared to attempt to climb the steps to the outside world. She grows anxious whenever he leaves her, so he slips a sleeping death draught into her drink when he goes out. Not a permanent solution, but it'll have to do for now—at least until he can think of another way to keep her calm. A frantic child could spell trouble in a suitcase full of rescues and tender creatures.

It's better, he thinks, that she doesn't accompany him. Africa has been overrun by colonizers and oppressors, each day bringing more and more that are no better than the last (no wonder the wizarding communities are sparse and keep to themselves). Enslaving indigenous people are what Muggles do best and Newt refuses to expose her to that horror. By their standards, she is less than equal, less than human. They are no better than the villagers that mistreated her. 

Market and the like are universal no matter the continent, loud and active places with charismatic vendors that try to grab the attention and money of every passerby. British knick knacks mix in with the native wares, elephant tusks dwarfing simple, wooden clocks. Men and women of pale complexions dominate the area, dressed proper, while other dark skinned individuals with flowing robes intermindle. It's all so predominantly western that, if not for the humid weather and the wild calls from the surrounding jungle, Newt could trick himself into believing he's back in England.

He buys a simple dress that looks like the ones he remembers seeing English little girls running around in before he left London almost a year ago. Fashion doesn't mean a lick to him, nor does he think it will to Aluel, so he buys multiple of the same that vary in color. Stockings, undergarments and the like, are beyond him, and he picks at random and hopes for the best (he could use a shrinking spell if need be). He gets odds looks at his purchases, but he ignores them. Whatever conclusions they deduce, it doesn't affect him.

When he comes back down into his case and finds Aluel awake, he gives her a bath. It’s a dreadful affair for the both of them, but by the end she’s relatively clean and looks less of a abandoned murtlap and more of a human child. She’s confused at the clothing when he shows them to her, but tries on the new dress nonetheless, stroking the new material. She likes the stockings well enough, but is adamantly against the shoes. Newt finds this somewhat frustrating. 

“Come on, you have to wear them. At least in here.” Rules aren't always something he follows, but even he knows when to abide by them. Within his case, he has an assortment of creatures, varying in classification. All it took was one misstep and a misplaced billywig sting and they'd have a situation on their hands. “I understand you don’t like them, but this is for the best. You’ll hurt yourself otherwise.”

She doesn’t take off her shoes when he finally gets them on and tied, but refuses to interact with him, giving him what he thinks is the silent treatment. She must be angry with him, what with him forcing her to bathe and be dressed in foreign clothes, but he sticks by his decisions (it really is for her own good, even if she couldn’t see it now).

He leaves her sulking at the steps of his shed to run through the feeding rounds, only somewhat keeping an eye on her when he can. She’s in the same spot when he’s done, still refusing to acknowledge him when he comes back, and Newt would leave her be except for one fact.

She not wearing her shoes.

After a quick search he finds them in the occamy nest, the laces missing and the soles torn. Aluel glares at him from the doorway of his shed. 

Newt sighs. “Really?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this chapter done two weeks ago and yet I did nothing with it. I have the attention span and responsibility of a goldfish.

Days turn into weeks until a whole month has passed and Newt still finds himself in Eastern Africa. Still with no idea what to write to the African Ministry. Still with a little girl in his case.

Rather than worry over a problem that’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, he focuses on helping Aluel the best he can. While his potions helps her regain the muscle mass she was severely lacking, he focuses on determining how she fares mentally; cognitive tests are something he’s done with his creatures.

He finds that she excels with English; he only needs to repeat a word once and she won't forget it. She understands more than she can say, but he suspects that that's more to do with her less than adequate speech skills stemming from years of neglect than her mind. Despite not one to socialize, Newt takes it upon himself to talk aloud and often. 

While her trust in most of humanity is minimal, her interest in animals is unchanged. He can trust her with simple tasks, carrying a bit of feed and giving it to the less deadly creatures under his supervision. She’s fascinated by the Rowan tree home to the rest of the bowtruckles and absolutely adores the mooncalves. Once or twice he ushers her away from the pixies’ nests before they swarm her, showing her his collection of paw prints when she gets too rowdy.

It’s good to have someone other than himself in his case, to offer a helping hand. When she’s up to it, Aluel trails behind him like a loyal crup, and Newt can’t help but enjoy the moments of companionship. More often than naught, he ignores basic necessities in favor of his creatures and research, but with her around, he is reminded to act like the human he is. 

Now that the fear of the obscurus is erased from her mind, she’s more curious than he ever thought, demanding more attention and responsibility from him. She’s overly fond of food and, in this aspect, it’s better to treat her like one of his rescues (he’s more in tune with their eating habits than his own), sticking to a schedule to a T.

He sets up her meal before heading to the mooncalf enclosure like always, but she stops him by gripping his slacks. She’s insistent, tugging harder, even going as far as to say a few rudimentary words in her own tongue to sway him, and Newt suspects it's been a long time since she has eaten with another living soul. He himself is no better, the number of times he’s recently sat across the table with someone counted on one hand, even less with those that can actually speak back (now matter how wonderful a companion Pickett is, he can’t reply to Newt’s observations and questions).

With that in mind, he sets aside the bowl of woodlice, which Pickett takes to immediately, diving into the squirming sea and popping back with half a louse sticking out of his mouth. Newt chuckles, settling down beside Aluel, and snatches the apples when an invisible weight lands on his papers. “Now hold on, Dougal. Remember your manners.”

A chitter precedes the primate shimmering into visibility. 

“He likes the red ones,” he tells Aluel, pointing to the more vibrantly colored apples. “Red.”

“Red,” she says, picking one up and giving it to Dougal. Then she picks up another. “Red.”

“Not quite… they come in different colors.” He points to the apple in her hand, then to the similarly colored ones. “Green…”

“Grrrrr.” She takes a bite, only for her face to scrunch up at the sourness. 

Newt tries not to laugh, but can’t help but grin. “Don’t like it? How about you try a pear”

“Pear…” She takes it from him, sniffing it. Watching Dougal, she takes a bite, her face transforming into surprise, then excitement. She makes such a fuss that Newt might think he’s given her her chocolate (he must remember to give her some Chocolate Frogs, if only for her to get kick out of catching them). She keeps biting into the fruit until her mouth is full and juice is dripping down her chin.

Newt laughs, wiping her face with his handkerchief. “Hold on, hold on!” When she’s clean he chooses an orange from the basket and begins to peel it. It grabs her attention immediately and she’s fascinated when he shows her the divided pieces, gasping when he eats one. “Orange.”

“Oran—ge…” She drags out the last syllable to a ridiculous length. “Orange.”

Newt has to stop her from eating the skin. “No, no, don’t—”

* * *

 

Newt learns she likes to speak.

She likes names, likes it when tells her what he calls his magical creatures and the personal ones he’s bestowed on each and every one of them, repeating each again and again until she’s got it right. She likes it when he offers her different nicknames for herself, listing off all those his mother used to call him.

She doesn’t like that she only has one name.

“More!”

Newt huffs, amused. He counts the rows of buckets, carefully stepping over each, and she’s right at his heels. “You already have a name.”

“More!” Her eyes are big and pleasing and Newt’s never been one to refuse his rescues.

“Well, I suppose so… I’ve never known anyone who wanted more than one name.” Most people tended to make them shorter, not longer (why his mother decided to gift him his many names, he'll never know). “You don’t want to end up like me—I’ve got more names than I can handle,” he says. “What would you like?”

“Newt!”

“Yes?”

“Newt!” Aluel huffs like the werewolves, rushing off into the shack before he can say more. Newt works while he waits for her to return, tossing Dougal his lunch and feeding the occamies quickly, only mildly concerned over the ruckus he hears coming from the other side of the walls, and when she does comes back, she’s a whirlwind of curls. She shows him what she has by shoving it up at his face. It’s one of his papers he’s left lying around, an outdated copy of his notes on erumpets that he'd let her keep. In the corner, his signature.

“You can’t have my name,” he explains, pouring the nundu’s meal into the wheelbarrow. “It'd be very confusing if we were both Newt, don't you think?”

Again, she shows him the paper, insistent. The emphasis is on his name, but it looks like he’d assumed the wrong one.

“Scamander? You like Scamander?”

Aluel smiles. “Ssss-sc-scander… scam-der...” Her face screws up adorably. “Scamander!”

He lifts the wheelbarrow and pushes it toward the African jungle with her following suit. “Right on the dot.”

His praise make her more than ecstatic. She flits from one enclosure to another like a billywig, repeating his surname with the passion only a child could have. Newt can't help but grin when she startles his fwooper, following after it with flapping arms.

“Alright, alright—why don't you leave that poor creature alone, you little beastie. There are others that need to be fed.”

Aluel does what he asks, but takes it to mean to tease him, flapping and twirling around him like a fledgling hippogriff. She jumps into the wheelbarrow when its emptied, cawing and tweeting up at him, and Newt decides to humor her. He sets off on a twisting path to his shed, uncaring that he disturbs one or two of his creatures.

She’s latched onto him like one of his creatures, unwilling to be released into the wild. It’s his fault for allowing it get this far, but he doesn’t know what to do about it—how to deal with this feeling in his chest that's telling him that he  _ shouldn't _ do anything about it. He's lost all control of the situation, unable to stop. It's all gone too far, falling into the deep end without any possibility of resurfacing. He's fighting a losing battle. 

He realizes that he’ll give her this one thing, if only to please her. Happiness, even over something so simple as a name, is worth the heartache that would undoubtedly follow when he passes her on to the Ministry.

Even if it's only for a little while.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still writing this AU because I really do like imagining Newt as a father-figure who's trying his best.

Newt hadn't yelled. It did nothing to raise one’s voice at a creature, magical or not, and a child was the same.

He tries to convince himself that it was deserved, that the situation called for direct action, even if it meant stepping past the boundaries that make up his character and adopting those of people he dislikes. Patience and empathy are lacking in the world and while Newt can’t communicate as well as other people, he prides himself on those traits, and feels betrayed when he displays a minor slip in his nature. _It only happened once_ , he tells himself even as guilt builds in his chest, _just this once and never again_.

Despite not seeing his father for over a year, he has never felt more like him.

Growing up he’d been warned of the dangers of the world, about accidents that could leave him maimed or dead, his family doubting his passions in fear of tragedy. Exotic creatures with equally amazing abilities, each bigger and more deadly than the last, living with a creature more fragile and unlearned than the rest, it’s a recipe for disaster. He’d been cautioned, but hadn’t truly considered the possibilities until Aluel was nearly taken from him from his own carelessness.

He’s tried to see life through a lense that’s clear of prejudice, tries to give each creature he meets a chance for change, to show that there’s more to them than the stereotypes crazed monster so many people think they are. And yet, even with his own personal preference to beasts, he can’t shake off the misgivings that comes with his species. He’s human, faults and all.

The nundu has already settled in for the night, curled like a regular house pet in its sand. It rumbles when he passes, but doesn't wake. The tropical climate of its habitat leaves the air humid, clinging to Newt’s skin as he makes his way into the enclosure and past the goliath in favor of the little shape hidden amongst the trees. He sits on a gnarled root nearby.

“I'm sorry,” he says when neither of them has spoken. “I shouldn't have said what I said. I lied when I said nothing in here with hurt you—my creatures, they can be very dangerous if you're not careful… and today, we weren't.”

His words gets a him glance, but no other response.

“People say things they don't mean when they're angry—I say things I wish I didn't.” He takes a deep breath. “Can I—can I come over to you?”

Aluel shifts, loosening her hold on her knees and scooting closer, but keeps her eyes fixed on the fungus and moss blanketing the trees. He takes that as a silent yes, slowly making his way to her spot, taking a seat an arms length away. She doesn’t shy away from him.

Newt picks at his cuticles, struggling to figure out what to say next. He’s never been excellent with words, actions always enough to get his point across, but he’s dealing with something much more sensitive. Actions could only get him so far; he’d taught Aluel his language and now he had to use it himself.

“Sorry… my fault.”

Newt looks at Aluel, caught off guard. “Not entirely.” Offering up a smile, he tries to salvage the situation. “We'll just have to make sure it doesn't happen again.”

“Not angry?”

“No, not anymore.” He sees the fear peeking through and it sickens him that she expected some sort of retaliation, and more than anything Newt wishes he’d been able to rid her of that feeling, to have left it with all the other horrible memories in that small and wretched village. “I was more scared than anything.”

“Scared?”

“Yes,” he says quietly. “You see, I’m not an perfect caretaker. I don’t know how to care for something that’s not a beast. I fear I’ve made a mistake today. Will you forgive me?”

She nods and leans toward him, a warm body that fits perfect against his side when he hugs her. Newt presses his face to the crown of her head, more anxious than he’s been in a long time and thinks that maybe he’s beginning to understand humans a bit more with her.

As they sit there, watching the rise and fall of the Nundu’s chest, Newt realizes he’s going to miss this. These moments of comfortable silence when his creatures aren't so wild and a peaceful air envelops his case, the artificial sky darkening with the passing of time. When Aluel grows tired and he ends up carrying her to her hammock, tucking her in like his mother used to do for him.

She grips his wrist as she does every night, eyes more insisting and wetter than usual, and he wordlessly brings his stool from his desk to settle down beside her.

He tells her stories. He talks about how he came to have a nundu in his case, his listener enthralled with his encounters with traffickers and poachers. Then he goes onto the next tale, then the next, switching from meditating monks from Thailand to spirited Ukrainian Iron Bellies.

He expects her to grow tired as he talks late into the night, but it's the opposite. She seems more awake than ever, soaking up his words whether or not she understands them. And, when he shows her a particularly nasty scar from his time in the Dragon Corps, she latches onto his arm, wide-eyed. She asks something in a mix of her own native tongue and English, touching his scar, and it's because Newt’s been around her as long as he has that he knows what she's saying.

“They didn’t mean to. Most of the time it was my fault—I wasn’t listening and did something they didn’t like,” he says as an explanation. “I’m not like them and they tend to forget that.”

Aluel doesn't respond to his words. Instead, she lays her arm next to his and, despite the low light, the marks are undeniable. Newt frowns at the unnatural lines that cover her arm; they come in different lengths and thickness, pale and rough against her skin. He’s grown used to his scars—reminders of a life spent doing what he loved—and wouldn’t give them up for all the money in the world, but these are different.

He’s silent as Aluel examines his hand, her attention caught on the small scar between his wrist and pinky. It's one of his firsts. He’d gotten too close to a newborn hippogriff with the mother nearby and paid the price.

She shows him the back of her hand and the faded slashes there. There's no way he can determine what actually made the mark, only that it was quick and looked like it stung—maybe a splintered piece of wood found nearby.

“Same,” Aluel says as an explanation.

“Yes,” he says sadly, “we’re the same.”

She smiles, proud at getting the word correct, before patting his wrist. Newt presses his lips into a thin line before taking hold of her hand and cradling it between his own.

The stories begin again, only these are some from his youth. Days spent helping his mother care for her hippogriffs, watching his first hatching, receiving his letter from Hogwarts, those are the ones he remembers the clearest. Then there are the afternoons spent playing quidditch with his brother, followed by evenings with his father, reading in his study, and the nights curled up with his mother’s kneazles. Introducing Leta to Pickett and the rest of the bowtruckles. Not the most riveting tales, but they're his fondest.

Sometime during his explanation of the Sorting Hat and his description of the Hufflepuff common room, Aluel’s eyes begin to droop, and so Newt delves into paraphrasing his favorite sections from _A History of Magic_. He switches from rubbing small circles on the back of her hand to tucking her blanket tighter around her body, unable to keep his hands still.

He keeps hold as sleep overtakes her, patiently waiting as her eyes close and her breathing evens out, and makes a decision.

* * *

His letter never makes it to the Ministry. Newt rips it and burns the pieces while Aluel plays hide and seek with Dougal.

They leave the country the next day.

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: [njcklenjart](http://njcklenjart.tumblr.com)


End file.
